


James

by Wherenwhy



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherenwhy/pseuds/Wherenwhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things always got to real in that house. Jimmy found that out the hard way, especially when he's evicted from it. It seems that whoever the hell it was who broke in and stole his car last week has the solution. (Unrelated to my other GTA fics)</p>
            </blockquote>





	James

I'm back at writing a for GTA, because the story can be changed in so many words. This is original for the most part, but there are some lines from the game that make it in.

* * *

Shit gets too real in that house…

* * *

"James, you are an irresponsible, spoiled little shit," my father was screaming at me. Again.

"You take all of this for granted. Do you think this house was cheap? Huh?" He was standing over me, shouting down at me because I was on my bed.

"No, Michael, it was not cheap." I answered flatly trying my fucking best to get him to leave me alone.

"You bet your ass it wasn't. I worked to fucking hard for this. You don't know respect for anything. I mean look at you right now. You're fucking twenty, no diploma, smoking pot all day long doing nothing with your life. It's as if your whole life is eating, sleeping, and sex. And knowing how fucking lazy you are you probably just sit here and watch porn than trying to pursue the last one, huh. I'm getting tired of your mooching. It's time for you to get the fuck out of my house."

"So you think that you have nothing to do with De fucking whatever the fuck our fake last name is did not cause all of this. Your family is shit because you're shit." I don't know where that courage came from. I didn't even know if it was courage or foolishness expertly dressed in passion.

"Well, my shit parenting skills bought all of this shit," he moved his arm in circle, like a salesman on the showroom floor. Then, in what I perceived to be an unnatural burst of speed, he went for the baseball bat in the corner. He grabbed it and started pacing with it. "My shittiness paid for all of it."

He walked towards the television and smashed it with the bat.

I cringed. He walked over to my computer desk and smashed the monitor and the unit. In that second about 50GBs worth of porn were gone. Two terabytes worth of games were gone too. He walked over to my laptop and swung.

"Since I was such a shitty dad," he screamed again and swung again.

"You doing you're best to prove it." I answered.

"What did you say to me, faggot?" He smirked a little bit. It was sickening

I wanted to drop dead for a while. I stammered, "What, what are you t-talking about?"

"I know how a computer works. I have eyes. I saw your blogs. Well the ones you don't want people to see. I saw your little collection." He was chuckling.

"Daddy," since when the fuck did I call him 'daddy', "don't tell…"

"Oh, never, never." He chuckled again. My stomach flipped, and I imagine that my face took on a green hue. "So you like it up the ass, huh? Do you like to have your shit stabbed or are you he shitstabber? Cum-guzzler. Anyone popped your cherry yet?"

My eyes were starting to get wet, and I was willing myself with all my might not to cry. Not in front of him at least

He continued his hate, "Salad-tosser, turd-burglar, dick-twister. What, do you bleach that? Wanna keep it fresh for someone. Bet you learned how to suppress your gag-reflex?"

"What have I ever done to you?" My voice was cracking.

"Still on with that gay shit with all of those emotions. Look like you're about to pass the fuck out, you little shit."

I blacked out. I don't know if I passed out, as he said, but there was a gap of events in my mind. When I came back to awareness, I was sitting on the ground outside of the gate, leaning on the fence post, with nothing but the clean-ish clothes on my back. It was Los Santos in August, so it was hot, really fucking hot, like 110. I looked down in my hands and realized then, acutely that they were sore and starting to swell.

I think that whatever I did when I blacked out, I must have, at least, fought my father. I couldn't see myself laying a finger on anyone. I never fought anyone before. I never had to. I was a kid who lived in Rockford Hills as long as I could remember. There was always plenty, you know, more than enough. I had more than enough clothes, more than enough 'friends', more than enough food and fun to spoil anyone. And spoiled I was.

Up until about ten minutes ago, I didn't think that there was anything wrong with the three 'ings' that I pursued. Partying, smoking, and fucking seemed to be enough to me. I'm twenty. What twenty-year-old actually gives a shit about tomorrow. I live for today, and no, I'm severely attuned to the fact that my 'prodigal' living saw me out of my comfortable bedroom and out of my reasonably comfortable life.

It was reasonably comfortable, but the lies that I had to cover were so unpleasant. I remember when we changed our name. I was ten, no I had just turned eleven, and I had been writing 'Townley' since I could. I was just starting to stylize my cursive, you know, I was moving away from writing the letters the same way they were printed on that green banner that was above every chalkboard in America.

I remember it was late January; it was freezing. I had just overheard that day at lunch what the other meaning of the word 'gay' was and I was glad that I found a word for the difference I could feel but could not express.I remember how happy I was that 'what' I was am had such a positive word to it. It made no difference to me that I felt this way. I suppose that's a result of mom's influence. She may have gotten everything else wrong, but when it came to shielding us from inappropriate shit she was, at least back in North Yankton, quite competent.

I suppose that I hid it quite well. Mom never showed any signs of knowing, nor did Tracey. I feigned interest in girls, drawing my inspiration from watching all of the other boys get tongue tied over the mere sight of one. I thought that I did a good enough job to fool all of them, especially the one I feared above all others and all else including God, my father. Dad was absent most of time 'working' so it was easy to play straight. Hell, who knew that there were really eleven year olds out there who had to play straight.

Another thought still hit me as I felt my skin start to burn, I still don't know what he did, or how it afforded us this place. Again, every time I asked Mom what Dad did for a living, there would be a dramatic and forceful change of subject. When we moved I remember we left everything behind. I only took a stupid drawing I had made and I lost it soon after.

All of a sudden, it seemed, I was a place where I could get a sunburn in February. And a sunburn I did get within a week of getting here. It was hot all of the time and I must admit that despite how much I hated the snow then, I missed it.

The sound of a car door slamming brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up and blew the hair from in front of my eyes.

It was a black dude. His skin was a rich shade between that of a coffee bean and a fresh chestnut. He looked a little taller than me, though I couldn't judge very well from my vantage. He was wearing some jeans and sneakers. I glanced up again and I saw that he was only wearing a gray wifebeater. It was too tight, and I saw every single muscle of his torso. I looked down again to hide the blush that usually came across my face when I see something appealing…

"Um…" his deep voice sounded as if he didn't know what to say, "I'm here to see…"

He crouched down. in front of me and spoke only to the top of my bowed head, "Look, if this ain't a good time, I'll come back later."

"Well, it's not a good time…" I didn't know how fierce I sounded, but I can't really admit to caring. All I knew was that I didn't bother to look up at him either, so I more likely shouted into the ground.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but I-"

I interrupted him and looked him in the eye, "Shit gets too real in that house," I pointed behind me to the house, "They repoed my car, and the thing is apparently the guy who did it broke and entered. My father snuck into the car and made the home invader drive him back to the dealership. That was last Friday. Today he just burst into my room and started bitching about how much of a disappointment I am to him and then he started destroying all my shit. He put me out and that's what's going on."

"I'm the one who repossessed your car," he said.

I looked into his face again and recognized him, "Yes, I remember you work at the dealership."

"Not anymore. Your father and Simeon, the dude who sold you the car, they, they- Let's just say that I don't have a job anymore. And when your father made me drive to the dealership he said he'd take me for a beer me a beer, and I was going to make good on that promise."

"I'm sorry that my father lost you your job."

"I am too," he said.

"I'm sorry," I started, "You were just coming to speak to Michael and now you're listening to Jimmy. You don't deserve all of this."

"I do deserve some punishment. I mean, I am the home invader. How 'bout you and me go and get that beer that I'm craving already." He jested, but stuck out his arm to get me to stand with him.

I hesitated, but put my hand in his hand. It was strong, but his skin was soft. He helped me up and my suspicion that he was taller than me. He looked at me and spoke again, as I watched a bead of sweat run down his forehead and to his bow. I looked into his eyes and tried mightily to suppress the zing that traveled so violently up my spine.

"What did you say your name was again?" He inquired.

"Jimmy, or James, or Jizzle."

"I'll stick to Jimmy in that case."

**Author's Note:**

> Please review!


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